


Perkipsie

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bloodplay, Bondage, Established Relationship, F/M, Knifeplay, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:11:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2107641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We don't talk about this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perkipsie

**Author's Note:**

> I offered to write a fic for my friend's birthday, and she wanted some Crowley/Self-Insert. I tried it. Never again.

You try to focus on your breathing. You’re a hunter. You can get through this.

Whatever this is.

The chair you are bound to in uncomfortable: wooden, worn, without arms, so your wrists are bound to the slats on the back. You tug at the zip-ties again. No give.

A light pours in behind you, and you have to crane your neck painfully over your shoulder to glimpse it. The door heaves shut, and footsteps click towards you on concrete. The shoes sound male, and expensive. You face forward, and run through a list of your known enemies in your head.

The footsteps stop, right behind you. You don’t give him the satisfaction of looking. “Hello, love.”

You don’t bother to suppress the smile that brings you. “Crowley.” you say, as he steps in front of you, all black suit and heavy cologne to drown the smell of sulphur he can never quite get rid of. “We must stop meeting like this. Sam and Dean are gonna want to know where I disappeared to.” you snark. Crowley shrugs.

“Not your fault about those two demons. Thinking they can offer a hunter to the new boss like a resumee. I had no idea, of course, and you’re talented enough to get away on your own, if not a few scrapes, bruises and hours worse for the wear.”

“So I guess I’m stuck here for a while.” you chuckle with a concealing grin.

Crowley smiles back. “Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”

You lick your lips, tug at your bonds for emphasis. “I’m guessing it involves bondage. Maybe a little roleplay.”

“Looks like...” he responds, leaning over you as he plants a simple kiss on your lips. It’s a warm-up, you know, not enough tongue and teeth to really be him. “You remember the safeword?”

“Perkipsie~” you sing back, and dart forward against your bonds to steal another kiss, but he backs just barely out of your reach. “Bastard.” you mutter, leaning back.

“You’ll get yours soon enough.” he says, with a light double-tap to your cheek, then turns, and walks to the coat rack on the far wall, hanging his suit jacket over the apron. “Show time.”

You quickly slip into the role. “Torture? Really, Crowley? I’m not gonna tell you shit, no matter how much you slice me up.”

He examines the table with all his torture supplies laid out while he rolls up his sleeves. “I don’t expect you to. Don’t flatter yourself, love, this is pleasure, not business.” He settles on  a five-inch, nondescript knife, testing the sharpness on his thumb. He seems to approve, and moves towards you. There’s almost a twinge of fear in the pit of your stomach, watching the King of Hell move towards you in the dim, with your hands and feet bound, at his mercy.

He’s always been merciful for you. “Then what _do_ you want?”

He stands in front of you, so close that you could brush your toes against his. He twiddles the knife, glances at it, and fists the hem of your shirt in his hand as he lashes out, slicing your tank top vertically in half. You flinch and squeak without even meaning to. He pulls what’s left of your shirt so it pools at your elbows- another layer of bondage.

“Is that what this is? Do you get your rocks off scaring innocent girls?” you spit, not breaking his glare. If you could tip the chair back just the tiniest bit, you could pull the loops under the legs of the chair, and free your feet. That would be helpful.

“There’s going to be far more than scaring.” he says, tracing your collarbones with the blade before it dips down, and hitches on the strip of fabric connecting the cups of your bra. He locks eyes with you, and you nearly look away as he cuts the fabric. Nearly. “And you’re _far_ from innocent, aren’t you?”

You bite the inside of your lip and squeeze your thighs together, stifling the quiver there. “Even if I was, it wouldn’t matter after this. You’re going to do what you please with me, and I can’t stop it.”

You watch the satisfaction flit across his face, and you know it’s only there because he lets it. Because he wants you to know this is him, and you’re safe.

Well. As safe as one can be, immobilized, half-naked, and horny under a demon’s knife.

He doesn’t break from your eyes as his knife breaks the skin, and you wince as it draws a red line down to your navel. “So this is just torture for the sake of torture? I thought you were above all that. That’s why we let you get away with becoming King of Hell.”

“You didn’t _let_ me do anything, love.” He traces the spaces between your ribs, some just gently enough to send chilled electricity down your spine, some puncturing the skin just to watch the blood run. He always did love marking you. “You didn’t even know until I told you. At my mercy. Per usual...”

A set of short, vertical cuts appear on your abdomen, and they’re so shallow, you barely even hiss. Then the knife drags up your chest, curling just barely over the bump of your breast. You fake a twitch from it, like he hasn’t touched you a thousand times before. He likes that. The demon trails the blade lightly back down, up, down, until it skirts around your areola, and you gasp. “God, you just love making people uncomfortable, don’t you!?”

The tip of the knife digs into the hollow of your throat in a flash, and he’s smiling. “I just love watching you squirm.”

The knife keeps you from dipping your head to watch as he leans down, sucking one nipple into his mouth. You swallow down a moan as he swirls his tongue around it, pinches it lightly between his teeth, but your breathing is ragged, now, heat in your stomach unbearable. _Just get on with it and fuck me already!_ He rises back into your vision, shifting the knife to horizontal along your throat. A band of blood follows, to pool against the now-warm metal. Crowley gets right up in your face, and yeah, okay, he can be _really fucking terrifying_ when he wants to be, and he just barely touches your lips together, before drawing back just enough to look into your eyes. You do your best to stay in-character. There’s red dancing behind his dark eyes, red like his soul- or what’s left of it. His lips are against yours again, harder this time, teeth on your lip, tongue against your teeth, and teeth clamping down on your tongue for trying to return the favour.

The knife’s away from your throat, drawing idle designs on your stomach, and he’s got a hand on your shoulder, probably doesn’t even realize he’s pushing you back, far enough that the front legs of the chair are just barely off the ground...

You bite down on his lower lip, hard, and hook your legs around his waist. There’s a sharp pain in your left hip, where the knife clipped you when you lashed out, but you’ve had worse. He smiles at your yelp of pain, and laps at the blood that’s collecting between his lip and gums. When you open your eyes, half your vision is obscured by a metallic glint, poised inches away. A drop of your own blood drips from the knife onto your cheek. You release his lip.

He straightens up, pulls out of your legs’ grasp, and touches his lip, offhandedly assessing damage. “Feisty.” The demon cooes, and straddles your lap, nipping at your neck. You wriggle, and moan a bit exaggeratedly, while he slips the knife, hilt-first, into your hand. You wonder whether that was in-character King-of-Hell Crowley trying to spice up the game, or out-of-character-in-love-with-

you Crowley slipping you a little help. You make quick work of your zip-ties either way, and stab him directly in the chest.

He barely flinches, just looks down at it, and back up at you while he wraps his hand around yours, around the knife, and pulls it out. You put all of your strength into holding it still, but he’s so, so  much stronger than you, as he turns the knife around, slowly presses it to the side of your sternum, between ribs, right over your heart. You feel the sharpness push against your skin, and grit your teeth, and swallow, and hold his cold, cold, _cold_ stare.

Sometimes you forget about him. You meet him in diners on weekends, or get texts from 666 on boring caseless days in the bunker with nothing but an address to some motel not far from there. You forgot what he is: Crossroads demon. King of Hell. Twisted, centuries-old soul that’s seen all kinds of torture from all sides, and he’s killed and manipulated and he’s only attractive because he made sure to pick a meat-suit that is. He’s smart, and he’s on your side because your side is winning. He could kill you, right here, right now, and Sam and Dean would never know what happened to you. No one would know.

He lets the knife drop to his side, and kisses you gently on the lips. “You alright?”

You blink repetitively, and nod. “Are you sure?” he asks, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear. “You know the word.”

You nod. “I know.”

“Too much?” he speculates.

You smile. This is Crowley. Crowley’s never hurt you, and he’s had plenty of opportunity, and plenty of reason. “My legs are asleep.”

“Really?” He reaches behind him, uses the point of the blade to pierce a hole in your jeans, and drags it across your flesh. “Feel that?”

You grit your teeth and hiss an obstinate “ _No._ ”

“Is that true?” he mocks, touching the knife to your lips. You lick it once, seductively, and he kisses you hard, slipping back into character. “I suppose I’ll have to try harder.”

He throws the knife, and you hear it clang against the cement floor as he wraps a hand in your hair, and pulls you to the floor. There, he presses down on your neck with one hand, other working at the button of your jeans. It doesn’t take him long, and he isn’t gentle when he pulls your pants and panties down past your knees, and attaches his mouth to your clit. You gasp as he sucks it into his mouth, flicks at it with his tongue, and works at the buttons of his shirt.

**Author's Note:**

> It cuts off kind of weird because this was supposed to be longer, but I noped the fuck outta there.
> 
> When I say "we don't talk about this one" I mean seriously; do not leave comments, do not publicly bookmark, this never happened, okay?


End file.
